


Like a hidden mountain stream

by Lady_Elwing



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comfort, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Gentle, Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Elwing/pseuds/Lady_Elwing
Summary: A short sweet drabble written around the prompt “When words aren’t enough“ and Eothíriel.Eomer has been away from home for a long time and he is eager to return to his beloved lady.
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52
Collections: The Tolkien Decameron Project





	Like a hidden mountain stream

Life had the uncanny habit of making the most extraordinary thing mundane. Or so, some thought. Eomer King wasn’t one of those people. As Firefoot galloped through the Mark, his thoughts were fixed on what was awaiting him in the Golden Hall. It was a miracle.

For the longest time, his life had been filled with darkness and loss… But after the War of the Ring, this darkness had lost its depth because there was a light blinding him.

He looked over his shoulder to make sure his eored was following. His men seemed to be enjoying the quick pace. Not so long ago, they were the one eager to return home and he was the one who dreaded to step back into Edoras.

Adburg had at least provided him with the comfort of not having to see Wormtongue. But in Edoras he often had to report back. As thoughts of the past made him forget the present, his jaw tightened and his brow furrowed.

But it didn’t last long… The sun was setting and Edoras was offered to their view. The city was aglow with the last light of the day and on top of the hill Meduseld seemed to be beckoning home with a twinkle.

He peered at that flicker as they rode forward. As he came closer to the city, he could see her clearly. It was her, of course. The lady of the Golden Hall was awaiting the return of the King.

It had been growing in her…. it was a shiver and a warmth : he was near. He was coming home, at last. Her whispered orders to the cook and the guards hadn’t surprised anyone. Her lady in waiting had confided that most people in the city believed she had some magic, prescience and healing, in her. It was a gift from her distant elven ancestors. It always made Lothíriel smile. Gift or not, she always knew when her beloved husband was around. It wasn’t magic, it wasn’t elven powers, it was love.

As she waited outside the hall, in the growing winds she chastised herself : maybe she was wrong this time. Maybe she was missing him too much and imagining things. So much for her elven senses.

And then, she saw a movement far below in the green plains. With her keen gaze she saw a glimmer, something gold… and yes, here he was riding like as if he was rushing to save Minas Tirith. Had she still been a girl, she would have jumped around. Because her heart was beating fast, her cheeks were aflame : Eomer, her dearest husband was coming home! Instead she stood quietly, her eyes following him.

He tried to keep his gaze from travelling back to her but he couldn’t help it. She was a sight to behold. Her long green dress billowing around her with the wind as she stood straight.

As he trotted through Edoras he had to nod and share warm greetings with his people. He looked up again and she was gone. And somehow he was disappointed. It was silly feeling… Wasn’t she awaiting him in the Golden Hall?

In the olden days he would have refused to let anyone take care of Firefoot. But this evening he was in a rush.

He was greeted with a roaring fire and the smell of roasted meat. By the hearth, his lady stood with a golden cup she held out to him. If it weren’t for her grey eyes and her tumbling dark hair, delicate elven features, all would have thought she was a rohír lady.

He suddenly felt shy and ill at ease. Yesterday he had been the Third Mashal of the Mark. Nothing much. Just a soldier… And today he was a king greeted by the gentlest bred lady he had ever met. The eyes that were beckoning him were full of love and relief, making him forget the past-

He took a sip from the cup offered to him, his fingers grazing hers.

She knew about ceremonials and honors. After all, Dol Amroth had always prided itself in being the keepers of the traditions of old. But she was also trying to recount how many weeks they had been apart. His gaze flickered to her and it was forgotten.

He was one of those men who changed the energy of the room just by standing there. And he was after all the king. Even if rohirrim manners were more laid back, tonight people were eagerly bustling by. Someone was asking Eomer if he wanted to bathe before the meal but she couldn’t speak.

This was one of those times when words were not enough.

She distantly heard him explain he had stopped at Adburg on the way and he was eager to have his meal in his rooms. The maid ran off and Lothíriel heard the clutter of utensils behind her. Eomer was smiling. The slow smile of someone who preferred actions to words. He reached forward and his hand found hers.

“My lady, Lothíriel…. Dearest.“ and it was a whisper just for her. They walked hand in hand to their rooms. No one in Meduseld would begrudge the King and the Queen for desiring some privacy. Although the people of Rohan were open in their love and anger, Eomer was of a different kind altogether. Quiet but earnest, only in battle did he truly show his emotions… Unless they were alone. Or unless he was talking to his sister, his friends or to small children.

Their love, although their union had been witnessed by nobles of both countries was private. Like a hidden mountain stream finding its way to the sea without anyone noticing its beauty.

As the doors closed behind them, his arms went around and her lips found his cheek.

  
He couldn’t help but smile as she kissed his cheek. He pulled her closer, kissing her forehead. There was a feeling he could never had associated with Meduseld before : home; he was finally home.

But it wasn’t this hall or this room that was welcoming him home, it was this bewitching scent, this soft voice and this embrace. She cradled his face between her hands as they gazed at each other. He noticed tears in her eyelashes :

“Lothíriel,“ he hoarsely whispered but she shook her head :

“It’s alright my love. It was just… I wasn’t sure….“ Words were tumbling out of her mouths. But he could read much more in her eyes. Words were not enough, but having her in his arms was more than enough…. So much more.

“It doesn’t matter now… You’re home.“

“Yes, I’m home,“ and he basked in her smile before her kissed like it was the first time.


End file.
